


out of the blue and into the black

by outruntheavalanche



Series: Exchange Fic [8]
Category: Scream (Movies)
Genre: Anniversaries of Traumatic Events, Comfort, Community: darkestnightex, Darkest Night 2019, Don't copy to another site, F/F, Future Fic, Post-Canon, past trauma, reconnecting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-10-27 02:35:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20752913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outruntheavalanche/pseuds/outruntheavalanche
Summary: It’s been twenty-five years since Woodsboro.





	out of the blue and into the black

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SadieFlood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SadieFlood/gifts).

> Written for SadieFlood for darkestnight 2019!
> 
> I haven’t seen _Scream 4_ or the spin-off TV show, so those works aren’t incorporated into this story. 
> 
> Title from "Hey Hey, My My (Into the Black)," by Neil Young.
> 
> Thanks to B for looking this over.

The thing about it is, there's no blueprint. There’s no lesson plan she can consult. Schools don’t give out crash courses on how to live your life after the harsh spotlight of fame—that you never asked for, nor even wanted—burns brightly upon you. 

Some people think she asked for the fame. Who _wouldn’t_ want to be famous, after all? So Sid lost her mom, most of her friends, her boyfriend got caught up in it. Even strangers who barely knew her got hurt or even killed. It’s been a heavy burden she’s had to live with since the last rash of murders, but there are still people out there who think the fame—no, the notoriety—was worth it. 

It’s been twenty-five years since Woodsboro. 

Sid had told herself she wouldn’t acknowledge the anniversary. She didn’t circle the date in her desk calendar with red Sharpie. She didn’t tremble when she was flipping through TV channels and stopped on an eleven o’clock news broadcast that blared **WOODSBORO TRAGEDY: TWENTY-FIVE YEARS LATER** in bright, bold font with her mom’s picture front and center. Sid definitely didn’t race into the bathroom and heave and puke until her head throbbed and she had to lay down on the tile until the nausea passed. 

She’s gotten past it. She’s over it. 

“You’re not over it. You’re _far_ from ‘over it.’ ”

Sid glares at Gale over a mug of lukewarm coffee.

She’s already beginning to regret welcoming the retired reporter—anchorwoman, author, actress, spokeswoman, motivational speaker—into her home for an impromptu visit. 

She wishes she’d told Gale to turn heel and walk off her porch when she opened the front door that morning. 

“Well,” Sid says, her tone dry. “I’m as ‘over it’ as I’ll ever be.”

Gale smiles, not unsympathetically. “I get it. Believe me, I do.” She reaches out and rests a hand over Sid’s wrist. “It’s been hard for me. And Dewey, too. But you’ve gotta face it at some point. Don’t you?”

“Do you, though?” Sid gently slides her wrist out from under Gale’s hand. 

Sid notes, disinterestedly, that Gale isn’t wearing a wedding ring. Maybe she and Dewey hadn't been coping as well as Gale would like her to believe. 

Gale tracks Sid’s gaze to her ring finger and she nonchalantly covers it. “I’m not here to talk about me, though. I’m here for _you_, Sid,” she says, slipping effortlessly into her ‘intrepid reporter’ persona. “Off-the-record, of course.”

Sid shrugs. “I don’t know what you hope to accomplish here, Gale. I’ve turned down every interview request I’ve gotten,” she points out. 

“I’m here as a friend,” Gale says, but Sid isn’t convinced. “I’m worried about you, kid.”

Sid rolls her eyes. “Are you writing another book?” she asks. “Is it gonna be some exposé on me? On how terribly I’m dealing with everything, after all these years?”

Gale just shakes her head. “I’m here in an unofficial capacity,” she says. She grabs Sid’s hand before she can pull away. “Why don’t we do something fun? Like, a girls’ night out.”

“I don’t go out,” Sid says. She doesn’t try to pull her hand away, though she wants to. “It’s too dangerous. You never know who might be out there.”

Gale tilts her head, lancing Sid with a curious look. “What do you mean?” 

“The Ghostface fanboys,” Sid says, twisting her lips, making a face. “I had to scrub my twitter, instagram, and facebook accounts because they kept finding me. Even when I go out, there’s always at least one Ghostface fucker who finds me.”

“The price of fame,” Gale says, the sarcasm positively dripping from her voice. 

“I didn’t ask for this,” Sid says.

“I know. None of us did.”

“But you adapted, didn’t you?” Sid asks, her tone maybe a little accusing. “You managed to get an acting career out of it.”

“I appeared in, like, the background of two shitty B-grade horror movies,” Gale says, with a huff of breath that blows her bangs off her forehead. “Hardly a career. I didn’t even get a SAG card out of it.”

Sid laughs, her voice rasping and rusty, little used. “Sorry for laughing,” she says, but she’s not sorry at all. 

“It _is_ kinda funny, I guess,” Gale agrees. “Fame… The fame’s not all it’s cracked up to be. For obvious reasons. I’d much rather be famous because I interviewed some influential player on the world stage, or I exposed political corruption or something. Not because I got chased by some fucker in a mask.”

Sid laughs again. It sounds a little more natural this time. “I have something to show you,” she says, pushing away from the kitchen table.

Sid moves to the cupboard over the kitchen sink and pulls it open, bringing down a package wrapped in brown paper. She dumps it on the table and peels away the brown paper. 

“What is it?” Gale asks, leaning in.

Sid lifts a rubber Ghostface mask from the piles of brown paper. “Some fan sent it,” she says, tossing the mask on the table. “Can you believe that? They wanted me to sign it and send it back.”

Gale laughs, but it sounds more involuntary than that she actually finds it funny. “People are sick and twisted,” she says. 

Sid settles back in her chair, across from Gale. “It’s just… It’s been twenty-five years, for God’s sake. Am I ever gonna get to move on from Sidney Prescott, victim?”

Gale reaches out again, sliding her hand back over Sid’s. She squeezes hard. “This lady in one of the survivors’ groups I joined says people tell her all the time it’ll get easier. But it doesn’t get _easier_ for everybody. For some of us, the pain and horror linger with us for the rest of our lives.”

“What a shit deal,” Sid croaks, turning her hand until she can clasp onto Gale’s. “What bullshit.”

“Yeah,” Gale agrees. “It blows.”

“Did you hear about the porno they made?” Sid asks, clinging onto Gale’s hand.

Gale makes a face. “Somebody made a porno?”

“ ‘Did-Me’ Prescott,” Sid says, jabbing her thumb into her chest. “It won some awards, or something.”

“Like I said,” Gale sighs. “People are sick.” She pauses. “What about me? Was I in it?”

“Nah. But Dewey was,” she says. 

Gale’s face slides into a frown. “Don’t tell me—”

“Yeah,” Sid says. 

“God. I hope he never finds out about it,” she says. 

Sid glances down at Gale’s hand. “So.” She runs her fingernail lightly over Gale’s bare ring finger. “What’s the story behind this?”

“You know how it is, sometimes,” Gale says. “Dewey’s just not made for the spotlight. And I live for it.”

“I get it. Neither am I,” Sid says. 

“I don’t see any spotlights at the moment,” Gale says, after a few moments. 

Sid lifts her head and meets Gale’s eyes. “No?” she says, suddenly very aware that she’s still holding onto Gale’s hand.

“No,” Gale says. She leans across the table and slides cool, chapped lips across Sid’s forehead. Then she pulls back for a moment before leaning in. 

Sid hasn’t kissed anybody in a while. It got to be a hassle sorting out the truly interested from the fame-hounds and ghouls who just wanted a piece of ‘Sidney Prescott, victim.’ 

But Gale, Sid knows Gale. She trusts Gale.

Sid leans in and presses her lips gently back against Gale’s. 

The kiss doesn’t fix everything that’s jumbled inside her, but she wasn’t expecting it to. 

It’s nice. It’s a bit of comfort from someone she trusts. Someone she _knows_. 

Gale pulls away and brushes her hair away from her face. “Was that—are you—”

“It’s okay,” Sid says. 

Gale smiles at her and laces their fingers together. “Coffee’s getting cold.”

“I’ll just make some more, later.” 

Sid takes Gale by the hand and leads her down the hall. She pauses and turns, every so often, as if to see if Gale’s still there. 

When they get to Sid’s bedroom door, she pulls Gale back in for another kiss before pushing the door open. 

When Sid shuts the door behind them, it almost feels like she’s closing out the rest of the world for just a little while. It feels safe. 

And when she loses herself in Gale—and Gale in her—she _knows_ she’s safe.


End file.
